


The cat that says hello

by StAnni



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Beginnings, Feels, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: It is a world apart from Eames’ own apartment and feels Spartan and bare, not being bigger than a matchbox and only housing a bed and a fridge in the small quarters.  Arthur smirks, drily as he lights a morning cigarette and Eames glances up at him “It looks like a serial killer’s apartment.”Arthur gives him a look before he exhales, assessing him “I suppose, technically, I’m a serial killer”  and Eames sighs and shrugs “Well…I can tell”  to which Arthur chuckles.





	The cat that says hello

Eames stares at the ceiling of Arthur’s miniscule apartment, at the spot where the paint is peeling and flecks of white must fall like the proverbial tree in the forest to the floor, when nobody is looking.  
Arthur turns, and seeing Eames is awake, frowns with a small “How long have you been up?” he pushes himself in a sitting position against the wall to the head of the bed. 

“Not long” Eames says looking at the smooth heel of Arthur’s foot which is now propped close to his side.  
“Your place is exactly how I imagined it” Eames says teasingly. 

It is a world apart from Eames’ own apartment and feels Spartan and bare, not being bigger than a matchbox and only housing a bed and a fridge in the small quarters. Arthur smirks, drily as he lights a morning cigarette and Eames glances up at him “It looks like a serial killer’s apartment.”  
Arthur gives him a look before he exhales, assessing him “I suppose, technically, I’m a serial killer” and Eames sighs and shrugs “Well…I can tell” to which Arthur chuckles. 

Before the Fischer job Eames and Arthur used to hook up, fuck out some work stress. There was never a sleepover.  
Their first date was a week or so ago, their official first date, which seemed inevitable after their both retiring early further to the Fischer job. To Eames it seemed time to attempt something more normal – at least see where Arthur puts his head at night.

“You don’t keep much around by way of decoration.” Eames observes and Arthur laughs outright, eyes crinkling as he taps his cigarette on the side of the old coffee mug next to the bed – Eames accepts that the coffee mug is, in fact, Arthur’s usual ashtray. 

Eames doesn’t judge, he wouldn’t dare to. “I don’t really get around to…you know…decorating. Not my thing anyway.” Arthur says, still smiling and Eames pushes himself up as well, if only to get out of the trail of smoke.

“Do you want to have dinner tonight?” He asks and Arthur looks at him, his answer light “ Sure.”  
\--  
Years ago, when Eames had only met Dom on two previous occasions, Dom mentioned Arthur by name as the best point man he had ever worked with. This was back when Dom was still happily married and had his first child on the way. Eames didn’t take much notice back then, not having been as involved in team-jobs rather than consulting on a specific aspect – either theft or forge, and only a few jobs down the line did he actually get to meet Arthur.

Initially he thought that Arthur was a pratt, a dickish, stick-in-the-mud pratt, a pratt that wears a suit to meet in a pub, and who was too polite and too pushy at the same time. 

The first time Arthur propositioned him he thought that he was going to have a heart-attack, he was so taken aback. It was at the end of the day, the extraction being set for the following afternoon, and everyone was just on that particular edge that made things seem surreal and sharp. Arthur had leaned on Eames’ table, his fingers idling with his totem – back then it was a flattened coin – one of those tourist machine ones, from Sea World of all places. “You want to come back to the motel with me?” he asked – so evenly, so without any pretense or even a semblance of concern, that Eames stared at him for a full five seconds before responding “You mean for sex?”  
Arthur deadpanned. “What else? Decoupage?” 

Eames had followed Arthur to the motel. He insisted on taking his own rental, in the event that he would have to escape and parked with the nose of the rental point towards the street for an easy getaway. 

It had been a good night though – Arthur was considerably more flexible in bed than he anticipated and was as comfortable with Eames taking the lead as he was with taking over again later. His kisses were searing, deep and intense and his grip around Eames’ cock through his slacks sure. “What do you wanna do, your call.” He breathed into Eames’ open mouth and Eames, lost for words, pushed him down on his knees where Arthur hungrily and eagerly sucked him off for a good half an hour. When he pulled Arthur up, and pushed him down to the bed, Arthur turned with purpose and waited for Eames to settle in behind him – groaning with a smile as Eames’ cock pushed in. 

After Eames came for the second time on Arthur’s back, Arthur shoved him against the headboard, stroked his own cock and came, with a groan over Eames’ parted lips.

It was messy and perfect.  
\--  
Dinner is at Lucio’s, a secluded Italian place with dimmed lights and heavy wooden furniture. It reminds Eames of his local back in Putney Wharf almost and when they sit down he feels good, he feels great, almost like he is with a normal person on a normal date.  
Eames can see that Arthur is not won over by the place but, as per usual, keeps his negativity in check. “You like Italian?” he asks but Eames can tell that he doesn’t particularly care what the answer will be. 

Eames shrugs “I like it fine, I suppose. I mean, you must…?” It’s a guess and he moment he says it, the moment that Arthur glances up from his menu with a frown, he realises how stupid the assumption is. He doesn’t know Arthur’s last name, he has no inkling from where Arthur sprang in the world and Arthur has certainly never talked about his family. He realises that he must have, a long time ago, simply based on the hue of Arthur’s skin and his features, and must have just assumed that Arthur is Italian. 

“I’m not Italian.” Arthur helps him and Eames, embarrassed, falters “I must have heard that somewhere.” Arthur shrugs, unperturbed.  
“Tell me you at least like pizza.” Eames tries and Arthur gives a friendly, honest sigh “Not a fan, no.” but he counters, dimples showing “but I do like lasagne.”  
\--  
The first visit to Eames’ apartment shows the whole Arthur-thing to be a bit of a mixed bag. 

Arthur, whilst utterly charming and cool, looks a bit out of place in about all the nick-knack and personal memorabilia.  
He stops at a photograph of Savea and Ben and Eames explains “Ben and Savea” and continues without even realising “Love of my life, Savi” 

He can feel Arthur’s gaze on him, interested. It is a bit unnerving – like, he would imagine, attracting the attention of a predator with ambivalent intentions.

“Your niece?” Arthur ventures, mistaking Ben for Eames’ brother Adam and Eames shakes his head with a chuckle “Savi’s my daughter.”  
Arthur’s reaction is nothing if not spectacularly underplayed, but Eames can see the utter confusion there. “You have a kid?” He asks quietly and Eames nods. “She’s almost fourteen now.” He says, nodding to the picture that Ben sent Eames of her thirteenth’s birthday party.  
Arthur stares at him and Eames tries “You don’t have kids, right?” to that Arthur cannot hide his shock and gives Eames a slight eye-brows raised “No.”  
Eames concedes though “It’s hard with the job.” and Arthur shakes his head, as if he doesn’t understand, “Is that your ex?” he asks of Ben and Eames nods. Arthur looks back at the picture and his expression is unreadable.

“I’ll have more time to see her now, “ Eames says about Savea as he goes towards the fridge to take out two beers “She comes to visit sometimes, mostly I see her in Paris.” 

Arthur doesn’t say anything and looks at the other pictures lining Eames’ wall. Finally he turns and joins Eames where he has sat on the couch, taking the beer offered to him. “I haven’t been to Sweden actually.” Eames can connect that Arthur’s mind must have bounced from “Savea” to Sweden, which is a misdirect, because both Eames and Ben or Savea only found out about Savea’s name’s meaning when she, herself, told them at age six after a comment from a teacher.

“I love Norway, though.” Arthur concludes and sips his beer. Eames watches Arthur clench his jaw after he swallows and Eames’ cock starts to harden in response.  
“So you never got married? Never got close?” Eames asks, innocently, and Arthur gives him a look, a bit surprised and almost amused, “You were married? To that guy?”  
Eames nods and Arthur seems dazed, he shakes his head – possibly not unkindly, but it irks Eames slightly nonetheless, “Wow. That’s insane. No, I never got married.” 

“What’s so…insane about it” Eames wants to know and Arthur answers him, whip fast – irritatingly so and a tad too familiar for someone who he doesn’t really know all that well “Other than it’s marriage?”  
They’re not that far apart in years. Eames is perhaps, at most, five years older than Arthur. Arthur, himself, must be heading into the deeper thirties. He has always come across as older, but his flippant attitude right there is not what Eames was expecting. 

“So it’s never been anything you would have ever considered?” Eames asks, admittedly goading, and Arthur, to his credit, seems to notice that he struck a nerve. “I was just shocked, sorry.” Arthur offers mildly and Eames puts his beer down, taking the argument to Arthur “I didn’t really see you as a judgmental type of person.” He says and Arthur tries to placate him, cocking his head slightly and giving a neat smile, “I didn’t mean for you to be offended” and Eames remains resolute “Or an asshole.” 

At that Arthur seems genuinely surprised and Eames explains, irritated “You’re reacting the way an asshole would react”  
Arthur nods, taking it. “Again, Eames, I didn’t mean offence.” He says in a frustratingly appeasing manner, but also firmly – clearly indicating that he is not willing to engage further about the topic. 

Eames’ dick is no longer interested in the situation and he gets up, thinking of a way to cut the night short and Arthur, probably suspecting it – gets up too. “I should head out.” Arthur says first, and Eames nods. “Yeah, alright.”

Without anything else Arthur leaves, politely taking smiling on his way out, leaving Eames to simmer.  
\---  
It is about three weeks before Eames calls Arthur again after the tiff at his apartment and this time Arthur declines coming over, but invites Eames to a bar instead.  
Arthur, surprisingly, asks about Savea not long after awkward hellos. “Have you seen your daughter yet?” and Eames, a little bit taken aback, nods “I did, yeah. I was in Paris last weekend.” 

Arthur, listening and even asks “So Savi goes to school in Paris?” and Eames answers, firstly surprised that Arthur remembered Savea’s nick-name and secondly, not sure whether he should be divulging information about where his daughter goes to school to an ex-hit man so he opts for a half truth “Yeah, Kingsworth.” 

Arthur doesn’t ask any follow up questions and Eames takes the opportunity to pry into Arthur’s life a bit “Where did you grow up?”  
Arthur glances at him, and lies – badly (which is surprising) – “Toronto”. Eames decides to go with it “Siblings?” and Arthur lies, again “A sister. Mary.” 

“Will you see her for Christmas?” Eames follows up, simply interested to see Arthur’s response, and Arthur is momentarily completely thrown off.  
Christmas is a little less than two weeks away and Eames, via texts from Savi, has been reminded of the impending proximity every single day. “I’m taking Savi to Stonehenge” Eames offers and Arthur raises his eyebrows, actually impressed.  
Then Arthur wades back to his fabricated life “Yes, I’ll be visiting Mary.”

Later during the course of the evening, after a few beers and some more stop and start small talk, Arthur seems to decide to take the night into his own hands and tells Eames to follow him to the bathroom. Eames smirks, first thinking about the dirty floor and the smell of the stall, but the memory of Arthur’s mouth closing over the head of his cock wins over and he ends up fucking Arthur, propping himself against the closed door for purchase, in the men’s room while at least two people are eavesdropping.  
\--  
Cobb, when Eames calls him a few days later and asks him about Arthur’s Mary, is quiet for at least three seconds before he answers “Yeah, Arthur doesn’t have a sister, Eames.” seemingly irritated and surprised that Eames didn’t know this information himself and then, “He’s a cagey guy, he’s your boyfriend you should know.”  
Eames laughs in surprise “He’s not my boyfriend, mate.” and Cobb sighs, uninterested “Yeah, okay, whatever.”  
\--  
When he sees Arthur again it is after New Years and it is after he receives a text message from Arthur at a hellish morning hour. “Would you like to meet at my place tonight – 9pm”  
At Arthur’s place Eames goes to sit on the only piece of furniture in the place, being the bed after Arthur lets him in. Arthur smiles at him “I have beer, is that alright?” and Eames nods.

He notices a box on the floor and Arthur, handing him the beer, picks it up. “For Savi.” He says with a smile and Eames stares at him, uncertain. “My daughter?”  
“Yes, Savea.” Arthur nods and uses Savi’s full name, as if trying to remind Eames of his own daughter’s name.Eames eyes the box suspiciously. It is not too heavy and it is not too light. There are no wires running from it…  
Setting his beer on the top of the fridge, Arthur takes the box gently and opens it – and then carefully digging through some polystyrene balls pulls out a crystal unicorn statue – large and way too expensive-looking for a teenage girl. 

“It’s a crystal unicorn, Swarovski...” Arthur explains plainly off Eames’ still incredulous face. “I ordered it online” Arthur says, looking at it, before carefully returning it to the box. 

Eames stares at Arthur as Arthur places the box in his hands again and dazed he puts the box down and gets up, facing Arthur “Why?” he asks, not unkindly, but with a certain amount of concern. Arthur’s brow furrows for a second and he shakes his head “Because it was Christmas, I suppose…” but he does backtrack a bit and Eames can see a spark of doubt there before he gives Eames a conciliatory pat on the shoulder “If you don’t think she’ll like it, it’s fine. I’m sure Philippa doesn’t have one.” The statue, already a wildly inappropriate gift for a teenager, is certainly not in any manner or form a better gift for an eight year old. But Eames doesn’t say anything. 

The unicorn moment seems to throw both of them off and Arthur takes a while to get hard as Eames works between his legs. After a few moments Arthur rolls over and offers that Eames fuck him, which he does. It’s not as good as it usually is, but it’s not bad. 

During the post-coital cigarette Arthur smiles as Eames tells him about a hapless attendant on his flight back from the UK. He takes the opportunity to ask Arthur about his family again “How was your trip?” and Arthur shrugs “Fine.” Eames watches Arthur “So you went to your sister?” and Arthur replies evenly “Yes, it was good.”

Eames, this time, doesn’t hide his scepticism and gives Arthur a teasing look “Why do you lie about having a sister?” and at that, as if he expected the lie to catch up to him, Arthur looks away from Eames, and with his brown eyes watching his cigarette as he tap-tap-taps it against the coffee cup. “I do have a sister.” he replies finally, plainly. “Somewhere.”  
He doesn’t take the unicorn statue with him when he leaves and Arthur doesn’t seem to mind it, shrugging “It’s completely fine.” 

It is not that he doesn’t appreciate the gesture, but he doesn’t think his ex would be too happy if he turned up with a several hundred dollar worth of gift for Savi, when they are trying to teach her to live moderately. He doesn’t explain this to Arthur, he wants to, but Arthur stops him, again “It’s fine, don’t worry.”  
\--  
For Philippa’s ninth birthday, short into February, Eames finds Arthur in Cobb’s study as he passes by to go to the bathroom. Arthur is staring silently at a picture of Mal, Cobb and Philippa holding baby James shortly after his birth.

Eames knocks and Arthur looks at him, a smile spreading and showing his dimples. “I didn’t know if you were going to be here.” Arthur says and Eames enters the study, also looking at the photographs on the wall. “You knew Mal well?” he asks Arthur and Arthur demurs “I suppose.”  
Arthur is, as per usual, wearing a suit and Eames tugs at it with a short laugh “You’re going to die in this heat, darling.” The dimples appear again and Arthur looks away, almost shyly, “You should take it off then. Later.” 

When the party is over, or at least when Eames feels that he has stayed as long as he can at an nine year old’s birthday party, Eames puts his hand on the small of Arthur’s back and tells him, quietly, to meet him at the bar where they fucked in the bathroom at seven.  
And Arthur does meet him there, perfect and poised, still in his suit, and not a hair too late.

In the bathroom, this time, Arthur sucks him hungrily and slides a split soaked finger into his hole before looking up at Eames, waiting for permission. Eames nods and turns, letting his jeans fall to the floor before he spreads his legs and sturdies himself against the wall. He hears a tear and crinkle before he feels Arthur’s lube slicked fingers slide into him again, opening him thoroughly. 

Arthur is an intensely good fuck when he wants to be. Eames, who doesn’t bottom often, feels deliciously boneless after Arthur starts a deep and efficient rhythm, keeping himself thick inside of Eames as he thrusts. It doesn’t take long, in fact, it is almost embarrassingly soon that Eames hoarsely tells Arthur that he is coming and he spurts white and hot in his palm. Arthur doesn’t falter in his pace at all and fucks Eames through his orgasm into his own where he spills wetly, stifling a moan, inside of Eames.

Arthur’s blazer is a crumpled heap on the dirty floor and Eames chuckles as Arthur breathes, sated, against his back. “What is with you and those suits, darling?”

In a grunt, that sounds like a smile, Arthur moves behind him, pulling out “I have to at least look the part, Mr Eames” and it is a strange answer, but Eames, utterly blissed-out, doesn’t have the breath to go into it.  
\--  
He is surprised to open the door of his apartment to Arthur a few days later. Arthur, again suited up, has a bottle of wine in his one hand and a gift bag, pink, in his other. 

“I took a chance” Arthur offers and Eames, slightly dazed, steps back, allowing Arthur inside. “This is for your daughter” Arthur says, handing Eames the pink bag, “For her birthday” which explains but also doesn’t explain because his daughter’s birthday is the first of October, and it is, in fact, the fourteenth of February.

Eames glances in the bag, half out of curiosity, half out of concern. It seems to be a flurry of silk, lace and sequins and Arthur, when Eames looks back up to him, shrugs “It’s one of those mermaid tails, those…I don’t know, it’s popular… apparently they put them on when they sit around on couches, or, for instance, watch television, play on tablets. I’m not sure.”

As Eames sets the bag down he nods a thank you and turns, apologetically to Arthur as Arthur takes off his jacket, “It’s nice to see you, Arthur, but…unfortunately I have company coming over.” It’s not a lie. Savi should be arriving by cab in about half an hour from the airport and Eames is not quite sure whether he wants Arthur to meet her yet.  
Arthur’s eyes, however, shutter just for the shortest of seconds, but he recovers - lightning fast, polite smile in place as he shrugs his jacket back on “Of course, I was just taking a chance.”

He leaves, again, with a smile “Have a good night.”  
\--  
Around week later Cobb invites Eames for a Sunday brunch, which is a little out of the blue, but Eames is happy for the distraction – as it is a Savi-less weekend. 

Cobb, being the skilled manipulator that he is, turns the conversation to Arthur quite bluntly. “Too bad it didn’t work out with you and Arthur,” he muses, apropos of nothing and Eames sits back, giving him a frown. “When did you talk to him?” Eames asks and Cobb shakes his head “I didn’t…I mean…not in so many words. He just mentioned that you were seeing someone.” Cobb holds his hands up “I didn’t pry” meaning he absolutely pried.

Eames, irritated, sighs and tries to be nice “Mind not talking about my business.”  
\--  
The next text comes after another month of silence and Eames is a bit perplexed by Arthur’s use of a smiley emoji at the end of “I know the chef at Maj, dinner Thursday at 20:00?”  
It’s not that Eames hasn’t been thinking about Arthur, he has been, in fact, quite obsessively fretting as to the amount of effort it would take to integrate Arthur into his life – should this turn into something serious.  
Savi, although she is the most brilliant and beautiful daughter anyone could have, is reaching an age where Eames feels he should be a more consistent and proximate parent in her life. He doesn’t really see Arthur moving to Paris just so that they can keep on attempting to date and he certainly doesn’t see them moving in together soon.

When he arrives at Maj Arthur hands him a flat wrapped box, the size shape of a book almost, but distinctly lighter, “It’s a dvd. A music television show for teenagers, apparently” Arthur explains and Eames sighs inwardly, sliding the gift in his pocket. “Thank you, that’s very kind.” He smiles and Arthur nods, as if he couldn’t deduce it “For Savea.” 

The dinner is muted and just slightly awkward given the valentine’s day mishap (which he only realised much much too late after) and Arthur, clearly trying, even offers some personal information – which may or may not be true, Eames elected not to gauge it – on his relationship with the chef, Bronwen. “I met Bronwen at Mentor House, which is this halfway house for young adults coming out of the system…”  
Eames assumes reference to the system means the foster care system but he doesn’t ask  
“…and we ended up paired into a few of the same courses..” to which Eames deadpans “Dreamshare?” and Arthur laughs. “Those courses, I tell you, free education – you get what you pay for.” But he shrugs “Turned out when for Bronwen, though”  
Eames has to agree “She is an amazing chef.”

By desert Arthur asks “You want to do something after this?” and Eames, unsure, glances at him from his salted caramel cheesecake “Your place?”  
Arthur shrugs “Yours?” and Eames evades “We could, it’s a mess though. I am packing up.” And to Arthur’s silence he explains “I’m moving to Paris.” Arthur doesn’t say anything right away and after a surprised nod he raises a glass of wine “Bon voyage.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything again about moving the night along after Eames tells him about Paris. Eames can see that he caught Arthur a bit off guard and as they walk out onto the street he feels a slight sting of regret at simply having blurted his Paris-plans out, pool in his gut.  
“We can still go to your place.” Eames offers and the moment that he says it he hears the apologetic tone unintentionally turn flat, almost pitying and Arthur’s eyes, a little sharp, moves from him to a cab driving up. He hails it. “I’m good.” and doesn’t offer a goodbye as he gets in, leaving Eames on the curb.  
\--  
Eames doesn’t get another text from Arthur but does try to phone him a week after the dinner at Maj. Arthur doesn’t pick up and Eames doesn’t leave a message.  
Two weeks before his move to Paris he knocks on Arthur’s door only to find a man-bunned stoner open the door and explain to Eames that he is the new tenant.  
\--  
On the flight to Paris he has a sudden fearful thought that perhaps Arthur will be waiting at international arrivals in Charles de Gaulle airport when he walks through the gates. The thought of having to explain Arthur to Ben and Savi is enough to give him a sour knot in his stomach – yet at the same time, imagining Arthur, hands in his jacket pockets, suit and all – his face always in that easy, placating smile, tugs at his heart.  
Arthur isn’t there, obviously and Savi runs into his arms to give him a hug that leaves him breathless.  
\--  
He tries to phone Arthur when he has settled into his new apartment but the call rings out twice. His text “Wanted to check in. Call me.” remains unanswered for weeks until there is a familiar ping in the middle of the night and Arthur’s words “In Paris on Monday.” gleam at him in the darkness.  
\--  
Walking up to the table at a café on Rue Tronchet, he can see Arthur’s foot tapping just so,so on the ground and when he looks over at Eames’ direction, his dimples reveal and deepen. To his utter surprise, his heart, literally, skips and he can’t help but blush when Arthur gives an easy laugh when he reaches the table “You’re blushing.”

There is a purple box, neatly wrapped, with a bow, on the table. Eames guesses “Pour Savi?” and Arthur nods “Oui”. Eames chuckles “Merci.”  
He doesn’t tell Arthur that he left the dvd and the mermaid tail stuffed into the pink bag back in his old apartment – a gift for the next tenant’s daughter. At the time, he simply didn’t have the heart to take it. Later, he called requesting the gifts to be sent to him in France and paying for the courier costs.

Savi, to his shock, found the random season of Glee to be delightful and overnight turned into a belated “Gleek”. The mermaid tail, which he, admitted thought was the strangest thing he had ever heard of, proved in fact, to be “the awesomest”.  
Eames waits for Arthur to explain what the gift is but Arthur doesn’t say anything, instead, opening the menu in front of him. “Arthur, if this is something expensive…” he warns, lightly and Arthur glances at him, thinking and then frowning slightly enquiring “It’s a kitten related brand, I think. The cat that says hello?” 

Eames smiles and it is a warm, wide smile. He nods “She will love it.” but slides the gift back “You should give it to her, if you’d like to meet her.”  
Arthur looks away for a second and then returns the smile – and it is a different smile, not polite, not restrained, not placating – a happy smile. “Love to.”


End file.
